


Old Habits & Old Punks

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: British Comedy RPF, Never Mind the Buzzcocks RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 19:33:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14527644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: A post-Mark leaving Never Mind the Buzzcocks meetup, where the two ageing comedians, though getting on in their years, still feel the spark between them. Simon is great in the role, but it just isn't the same anymore. They share their memories of the music, the mindblowing sex, and most of all the missing of each other. Set in 2006/2007 when Simon Amstell had taken over as host.





	Old Habits & Old Punks

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic. Posted in 2007 to Livejournal.

"Well, would you look at you," the corners of Lamarr's lips turned upwards as he held the coffee cup right up to them, 'You're turning into to me!'

It was so true, and hardly an understatement - with brash suits, broad collars and thick-rimmed glasses, Phill had narrowly escaped this modern emo fashion craze by modelling himself on Mark instead. Minus the 1950s coiffeur, he was near enough a carbon copy, though the amount of cheap gel he had clearly globbed onto his hair this afternoon proved he was trying his best.

But he merely smiled back at him, over the steaming drink, and said, "Anything to remind me of how it used to be, my dear." He could be as soft and sentimental as the rest of them when it came to it, but something told Mark he wasn't really lying.

Besides that, he hadn't changed much, and whether he be in smart or casual clothes, the comedian's physically large presence always left the deepest of impressions on him. Jupitus had become a more handsome man for the lack of beard, his cheekbones more pronounced, and mouth a juicy shade of red against pale skin. So wide in fact, with mirth, he knew full well the big guy could have eaten him all up there and then if he'd wanted to. And wasn't _that_ something worth suggesting later on this evening when they were alone.

He was positively perfect, to the point it made Mark wish he could turn back time too. "How's the new kid getting on?" he asked, wanting to shake those old memories from his mind.

They'd spent a good few minutes together and, being able to read his mind here, Phill attempted to lighten the mood. "He's a cracker that lad, don't you think? Fantastic sense of humour," he then added, "Settling in quite well now." Leaning forward, as if to whisper something a little more personal into his ear, he brushed his hand against his, "But he's nothing compared to you." Under normal circumstances, Mark would shudder at the cringeworthy use of song titles dropped into everyday conversation, but as it mimicked the nature of the game he used to present and Phill was trying to be cute, he let it pass in this case.

It had felt like forever since he'd left Buzzcocks. From what he had seen and heard, Simon was coping as host - he was talented, he would go far - his sarcastic wit would serve him well in this world. And once upon a time, Mark was that same young-gun - he could talk the devil out of sinning, that one, and boy does he remember the day he used that silver tongue to seduce Phill.

A couple of outcasts at a celebrity party, in a decade that didn't want them - a loser and a porker getting their own back at society by making good and having fun.

Others had used the hire rooms for snorting coke, the expected activity of celebrities, and not - heaven forbid - gay sex. But he could still feel the heat of his skin, hard and horny underneath his great mass of weight. Stripping him of his sweater hoodie and XL jeans and revealing more man than he ever realised he could handle. Crushed, humped and fucked. The returning of the favour saw Lamarr, pompadour pressed into his friend's belly, a hungry tongue getting to work on his cock. And all the while, the punky 90's tunes of the party pounded downstairs.

There's nothing quite like sleeping with a teddy-bear. Sighing at the thought, he slowly snapped back to his surroundings. Ten years ago he wouldn't have been seen dead in a place like this - this kind of corporate coffee-shop dive - this bourgeois boutique. But now turned forty, he had mellowed in his old age somewhat, as they both had. He traced the rim of his cup and smirked though, as a punk rock track came onto the radio, just before the staff had the chance to change the station - accompanied with the familiar feeling of rebellious fingers pulling him over the table for a kiss - the first of many in a night of passion.

He knew he could have Phill anytime he wanted these days - as he was finally  _free_ from all of those pretences. But just so  _long_ as the wild-child inside of him would never have to die.

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is a work of fiction involving real people written by myself - it is a completely made-up fantasy and is in no way intended to cause offence.


End file.
